


Not Just a Monster

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Artist Stiles Stilinski, Blood Drinking, Drabble, Feeder Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Human Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Vampire Peter, Vampire Peter Hale, wordcount
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a vampire Peter has never seen his own reflection; Stiles decides to show him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Just a Monster

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this prompt from the fluff-for-you: prompt blog on tumblr: Imagine one half of your otp is a vampire and the other half is human. The vampire has never seen their reflection so they have no idea what they look like. The human, who is also an artist, decides to paint their vampire so they’ll finally be able to see themselves. 
> 
> I've been on a major vampire Peter kick lately, but Im trying to save the rest for Steter week. (Trying and failing)

Peter tapped his fingers restlessly along the sofa cushion. Being a vampire was so terribly boring during the day. He was essentially locked inside the enormous castle with nothing to do, save for the things he'd been doing for hundreds of years. He sighed and leaned back against the sofa. Sometimes being a monster was hard; especially without any villages to terrorize or maidens to seduce. Those days had long since passed with the coming of technology. 

Sitting on the floor with his head resting against his knee, sketchbook in hand, was Stiles, his favorite human, the one he kept but not for his blood. He idly carded his fingers through Stiles hair while the human sketched, filling the paper with dark lines of charcoal. Over his shoulder he could see shapes beginning to take form. He always made sure that the boy had plenty of sketch books, watercolors, canvases, and colored pencils to keep him busy, he learned the hard way that a bored Stiles was a _destructive_ Stiles. 

“What are you drawing now, dear one?” Peter asked quietly. He knew his boy would only draw things that fascinated him, like oceans, rivers, and landscapes. He wanted things he could never see, or never possess. Animals were a frequent subject, primarily those that came out during the day and so he was often barred from seeing them outside of a television screen. 

Stiles looked up at him. “A deer,” he said simply. His fingers and palm were stained black. On the paper a long snout and a pair of eyes were all that had taken form. 

“A deer?” Peter repeated. “Why something so mundane? You should use your talents to create something more extravagant, like my face,” he flashed a fanged smile in his humans direction. 

“Narcissist,” Stiles laughed. The sound was so sweet and light. The action caused him to tilt his throat up, revealing the pretty pinprick bite marks against his jugular vein.

“How can I be a narcissist when I've never even seen my own face?” Peter said back with a hint of bitterness. It was true. He'd lived the last five hundred years without ever having seen himself, save for in the waters reflection, and those images were always distorted and muddled. He knew he was handsome, he saw it in the faces of those he passed by on the street, and in the eyes of his victims before he claimed their precious life fluids as his own.

Stiles frowned. “You've seen your face before. It reflects in the water,” he motioned towards the bowl that sat, brimming with liquid against the counter top. 

“Yes, it does. But it's too dark, and too distorted. Even when it's completely still my face is hardly more than a blue and black shadow, and my eyes blur out what little detail there is,” he sighed mournfully and let his irises brighten to crimson in example. Unlike other humans, Stiles was undaunted by their natural shade. “I'll never see myself the way you can.”

Stiles bit his lip. “Would you be mad if I tried to draw you?” his dark eyelashes fluttered under Peters watchful gaze. 

The thought intrigued Peter, he pondered for a second. “I wouldn't be mad, not unless you made me look bad on purpose,” he said with a smirk. “Someone with your level of skill and unbridled talent, I'd be flattered.” 

Stiles placed his sketchbook and his charcoal carefully to the side. Then he stood up and walked away. Peter sat up and watched his human cross the room to the closet. He rifled through it for a minute, before he pulled out another, identical sketchbook, save for a tiny splotch of blue paint that marred the cover. He flipped it open and went back to his masters side. 

Peter took the book whose papers had once been clear and soft and was now home to a variety of colors and textures.

It took him a second to comprehend what he was seeing. His eyes stood out against the page made of crystalline blue water color, not crimson or scarlet but blue, a clear, icy blue. His skin was pale like the humans, but no dark dots blemished the white of his cheeks. He ran his finger delicately over the page, almost afraid of smearing the colors. On his lips was a smirk, but not a malicious one as he'd so often been described. The person on the page looked . . . nice, understanding. 

“That can't honestly by what I look like,” Peter said. He reached his hand out and lightly touched the drawing, right above his cheek. He was pleased with it, but the person on page didn't look like a monster, which he most certainly was. 

“It's what you look like to me,” Stiles said softly as he settled back into his position against the sofa.

Peter looked for a minute more at the page. He flipped to the next one, and found yet another drawing of himself. This time it was made out of color pencil. Page after page was filled with the drawings and sketches. Some weren't completed, some weren't in color, but every single one was beautiful, and in every single one he was smiling. 

Stiles sat beside him and chewed his lips anxiously as he went through the pages with quiet intent. 

Then, without warning, Peter set the book aside and grabbed the human by the arm. He pulled him up onto the seat next to him and wrapped his arms tightly around his torso. “I knew there was a reason I kept you,” he purred in the boys ear. He hugged him close. Despite it all, Stiles never thought of him as a monster. To the boy with the chestnut eyes he was just another person; a stronger, more animalistic person, but a person just the same.

The humans heart thumped erratically in his chest. He tilted his chin up to expose his throat, but Peter shook his head. 

“No, I just want to hug you,” he said. 

Stiles melted against him and settled his head down on the vampires shoulder. His body was so warm, much warmer than the vampires and so perfectly soft.

This was the reason Peter had kept Stiles alive all these years, and this is why he would continue to keep him alive, his feeder, his artist, and his _love_. The one who trusted him.

And he trusted Stiles, who saw him as a person and not just a monster.


End file.
